Career Choices
by swashbucklet
Summary: Starting sixth year, Hogwarts students are required to do a project spanning two years, based on their preferred career choice. A BlaiseHermione story of a relationship that just shouldn’t work.
1. Chapter One: The Career Project

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

Hello. This is an idea I wanted to get out before the sixth Harry Potter book arrived. It is a Blaise Zabini and Hermione Granger story, and I tried to make it as canon as possible. Really, I swear. I hope you enjoy the first chapter!

**Career Choices**

Chapter One: The Meeting

Hermione Granger's morning routine was, to put it mildly, extremely precise. She woke on the spot at a quarter to seven, freshened herself up by seven-fifteen, and then headed toward the Great Hall to do some schoolwork before eight, when breakfast was served. And that was just a mere summary of her morning regime.

It was habit and normal and never changing. And Hermione liked her normalcy, favoring it to change any day. Yes, Hermione would much prefer the comfort that sameness allowed. The security of knowing that the next day things would be the same, okay. That they would be safe, free from new worries and pain. No, she'd rather life not to change, for while changes could be amazing, changes could also be very, very bad.

This had been carefully deduced, thought out with mindful precision and care. After all, Hermione Granger rarely did anything on a whim. Even her thoughts were vigilantly planned, as if she were writing an essay, for she had plenty of evidence to back up her thesis on change. Take just Harry for example. Harry wasn't the same person she met on the Hogwarts Express in her first year. The circumstances of fifth year had him shutting himself away, refusing to accept help. He had been a terror to talk to, and she was so sure he would explode any second with his newfound apoplexy. But now, as the summer had passed and sixth year had started, he had changed to act completely different about his situation. Lately, he was being extremely cheerful, and overly touchy-feely. He'd hug her for no particular reason, or lean against her when tired. She wouldn't deny that it was nice, but it just didn't seem real. When he thought no one was looking, his smile would falter, and his grip would loosen. She hated wondering what his motives were for doing such close things, why he felt the need to act cheerful. She just wasn't sure she really knew him anymore.

And unfortunately, that was just one example in her life. No, no, she did not like change all that much. Unless, that is, without her knowing exactly what was to occur. Which was rare, so no, she did not like change.

This Monday morning started out like any other. The moment she woke up to her alarm clock stating "six-forty-five," her biological clock clicked into gear. Rubbing her eyes to rid them of excess tiredness, she ambled to her closet and grabbed her uniform. She then headed towards the bathroom and once the door was firmly closed, she relieved herself, took a short bath, and then had brushed her teeth with great care and vigor, all of her parent's frequent warnings of plaque and cavities and gum disease ringing in her ears. Once she had finished the technicalities of getting ready for the day, she turned to the mirror and allowed herself to be a girl for those few precious minutes.

She groaned at the blemish marking the flesh by her ear, touching the redness with distaste. She had been blessed so far with relatively clear skin, but always was afraid that maybe she was abnormal, that her hormones weren't functioning properly, that she would break out any second. In truth, it was a rather frightening concept, but as to the matter at hand, nothing a little concealing makeup wouldn't hide. She plucked a few stray eyebrows hairs, then worked the barest amount of mascara on her eyelashes and natural-toned eye shadow on her eyelids. She added a dash of lip-gloss, and surveyed herself in the mirror. Even with all that effort, she still looked as if she hadn't done anything to herself. The makeup was so bare it would take almost microscopic observation to notice. But it was now time for the final touch. What would make her shoot up to the "normal-looking" rung in the beauty ladder.

Last summer, she had found the perfect shampoo and conditioner. Perfect. It hadn't made her hair completely sleek and shiny, she doubted anything inexpensive could, but it had tamed her frizzy locks to the point where she could run a brush through it. That alone was cause for celebration and idolatry and praise. And while no one noticed the makeup, everyone noticed her hair. Granted, it wasn't as pretty as she had had it at the Yule Ball in fourth year, but she was efficient, and unfortunately for her, she knew spending an approximate two hours suffocating her hair in Sleakeasy's everyday wouldn't be the best time consumer. Not to mention it was ridiculously costly. Thank God for Muggles and the economically inexpensive Pantene Pro-V.

With the miracle hair products working their wonders in her hair and her hair still somewhat damp, she ran her brush through a couple of times, then twisted it deftly into a loose bun, artfully letting a few strands fall. She gazed at the final product in the mirror with care; she was a perfectionist in most things, but with her looks, this would do.

She had started worrying about her looks after the Yule Ball, not that she had wanted to. After everyone had been thoroughly shocked at her groomed, beautiful state that night, they seemed rather disappointed when she wasn't the day after. Their dissatisfied manner totally surprised her; were they that upset she had gone back to being her normal self? Was she really that bad looking? It had plagued her all through the rest of the year, and when she returned home for summer holiday, she had asked her mom for help. Her mom had been mildly surprised, but after the initial shock, she was wonderful, helping her choose tones that weren't too gaudy, shades that were just right, and as with all things, Hermione took to learning how to apply the makeup with great meticulousness. She had also gone with her mother on a massive shopping spree, buying so many articles of clothing it had made her head spin. And of course, she had found the miracle shampoo and conditioner set. She wasn't exactly searching for something to pretty herself, but with the makeup, she felt more confident somehow, that at least she was a semi-normal girl and that she had tried.

She glanced once more at her appearance before leaving, noting with satisfaction the hands on her clock pointing to seven-fourteen. Her roommates were just starting to get up, and Hermione folded her bed sheets, watching as they charmed their beds to make themselves. Perhaps it was the Muggle in her, but she just couldn't do such mundane things as setting the bed with the help of magic, it felt too odd to her, too indolent.

It was seven-fifteen now. Right on time. She gathered her supplies for the day's classes, collecting her quills and parchment and shrinking her books. She then placed them in her book bag, and shouldering it carefully, walked briskly out of the dormitory, through the common room, and out the Gryffindor House.

By the time she reached the Great Hall, it was seven-twenty-one, and she was about to enter when a rather large sign on the notice board caught her eye. The Prefects had instated the notice board almost immediately when the school year started. One Ravenclaw Prefect had suggested it, arguing that with it by the entrance to the Great Hall, no one could miss it, and would be an efficient way of keeping track of things. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and Dumbledore had okayed it, so the following morning, Hagrid set up a massive one that never ran out of space. Now, only a week later, notices were being put on all the time. Reminders of Quidditch practices and trials, notes bearing the date of meetings, flyers suggesting tutors and class-help. Altogether, a minor success.

But this sign that had caught her attention spanned almost the whole board, and one would have to be blind not to notice. As she walked closer to the board, she realized that it was a message to all sixth years by the four House Heads and Headmaster Dumbledore. How very peculiar, Hermione thought with surprise, scanning the sign quickly.

**Sixth Years Career Project**

This message is for all current sixth years. Today, on the 8th of September, Monday, please congregate in the Great Hall after breakfast, at nine. We will meet to discuss your sixth year Career project. More details will be given to you then.

Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick, Professor Vector, Headmaster Dumbledore

Hermione furrowed her brow in contemplation. Well, if this wasn't extremely odd. Since when had there been a career project? She was sure she would have heard about it, or at least have read it in _Hogwarts, A History_. What was going on here? Well, at least one thing would be sure. With this monstrous sign posted, no one was bound to miss it.

Hermione stiffened upon feeling a presence behind her, and she turned slightly to see who it was. She glanced at his face, and then looked back at the sign, feeling slightly self-cautious. She recognized him; he was a Slytherin in their year. And she was pretty sure he was in her arithmancy class as well. What was his name again? Hermione started as she desperately tried to rack her memory; what was his _name_?

Give or take a minute later, she continued to stand next to the boy, brows furrowing in frustration. Oh, how could she not know her own classmate's name? There were only about twenty people at most in her graduating class alone, most likely less. She should've at least known her own year. How could she miss one person, even if he was a Slytherin? Especially if he was in Slytherin. Know thy enemy, Hermione Granger, know thy enemy. Hermione paused in her inner rant, realizing that the boy next to her was gazing at her with a blank expression etched onto his face. Oh, just brilliant. Why not make a fool of herself in front of a boy she didn't even know? Somehow, she managed to pull herself together enough to smile sheepishly at the Slytherin before quickly entering the Hall.

Not soon after she had settled in her own seat and had poured herself a cuppa did the boy walk in and sit at the Slytherin table on the far left side of the Hall. She took a sip of her coffee, and feeling rejuvenated by the luscious caffeine, felt comfort in the fact that they were so far away now that he probably wouldn't notice if she was observing.

He was not bad to look at, handsome even. She blushed inwardly, slightly ashamed for the first thought that had popped into her head. But it was true, he was indeed very good looking. She couldn't really tell from here, but if her glance earlier amounted to anything, then he wasn't all that bad, not spectacularly gorgeous, but not bad either. Dark, wavy locks of hair framed his face and his skin was tanned just so. His face was angular, but not pointy like Malfoy's, and his jaw line was decent enough. But it was his eyes that did her in. Hermione almost melted when she glimpsed into them, for they were the deepest, cerulean gray, a conflicting storm. He was so very tall, too. Not Ron-tall, but like all of the boys her age, a good few inches taller than her. She wondered how Parvati and Lavender could've missed him.

It was when she thought like this that she was almost painfully aware of her feminine mind.

People never gave her a chance. It was always Hermione, the frigid, virgin, book-hugging nerd, who was too good for thinking about romance and boys and sex. Hermione snorted at the stereotype. How very untrue. Well, she didn't think about sex much, just that she'd like to have it with the man she loved at least once in her life time, but the first two items? Sometimes she thought that she thought about them too much, at night, when she was alone to battle her thoughts and emotions.

Of course, studies always came first, no doubt at all. There was no way she was about to let lust have control over her schoolwork. But, studies aside, she thought it would be rather nice to have a romance, to be able to have a relationship with a man. Of course, with everyone thinking Hermione to be Harry Potter's best friend and resident nerd, she was okay with no relationship at the time being. For in the meantime, there were _men _at Hogwarts to look at. Well, actually, not really.

Not that she dwelled too often of the subject of men, but on the rare occasions when she allowed herself to, she had felt awfully foolish for it afterwards. She had even written some or her thoughts out to prove the nonsensicality.

_Harry- Rock-hard abs, from all that seeker practice, I bet. Quidditch did well for him in the end, minus the major chance of falling off and dying. He's lean, but not overly so, hasn't quite grown into his body yet. Saw without shirt off once quite by accident. Abs are a definite plus. Why am I still talking about abs? Abs abs abs. Face is relatively cute, shaped just so, and begs often to just "forgive me". Can't say no with those vivid, jade puppy eyes staring into mine, so soulless and pitiful. His hands are rather large in comparison to mine, and you know what they say about big hands. His glasses add to his cuteness and I can't picture him without. Hair is always tousled and mussed and looks like he just woke up. I love it._

_Ron- No offense, but bright hair isn't doing much for his looks. Not to mention his freckles, god, they're everywhere! Makes me wonder if the places I haven't seen are freckled too, but that's another, rather gross thought I do not want to be thinking of. He's sort of gangly. No, screw niceness. He's really, really, ridiculously gangly. One would think he hasn't eaten in decades, which is totally preposterous just seeing him eat breakfast. In short, isn't the best looking. Too red, almost like a stop sign._

_Seamus- Surprisingly better looking than expected. Got that incredibly adorable next-door-neighbor thing going on. He's got one too many freckles, but not enough to be Ron. Thank God (no offense my best friend ever, if you are reading this, and why you, my male friend would be reading a guy rating list is beyond me). His sandy hair is cut so adorably this year, and it looks so soft. I wonder what it feels like. Overall cute, nothing too ugly on his part. Except for the few pimples I have noticed on his forehead, but that is a normal effect of raging hormones, though oh, how its ugliness pains me. _

_Malfoy- Haven't seen him with his shirt off yet, and I'm afraid. Why do I want to? Will I swoon? Blonde hair is abominable. Mushroom cut was a bad idea and I would've sued the hairdresser if my hair was as ugly. Granted, he's Malfoy, so he's probably quartered and castrated the poor barber already, but still. So very ugly. Not to mention, even without the horrible haircut, its bleached state burns like the sun, blinding my eyes. Hair is a major minus. Skin is also a minus. Has he ever been tanning? You would think with all that money they'd have gone to the beach at least once in their lifetime. Still, don't know why girls think he's gorgeous. Perhaps it is because he is dangerous and rich, in which case look at other list for guy personality ratings._

Yes, it really was ridiculous.

She had no idea how Lavender and Parvati's lives could be so centered on boys. It seemed so stupid and such a waste of time to Hermione. Yes, they were a rather...nice distraction, but at this point in their lives, that's all boys should be. Damn her female, teenage raging hormones. But no, she could not dwell on this matter anymore. She had more important things to accomplish, to achieve in her life.

She glanced once more at the Slytherin's figure in admiration before turning to her work. School had only been in session for a week, but that had not stopped Professor McGonagall from assigning them a six-foot essay due later in the day, and Hermione had some last minute revision to do before turning it in. Hermione Granger was always 100 focused and prepared, and no boy would change that. She started rereading her essay, soon lost in her own written words.

* * *

She was an odd Muggle, that Hermione Granger.

Blaise continued to sip his coffee, unmoving in her blatant observation. Well, it wasn't blatant. Rather discreet really, didn't know Gryffindors were that sneaky. But not sneaky enough; Blaise could feel her eyes trained on his form.

He wasn't sure whether he should be pleased or worried. Hermione Granger trying to examine him? Him? A Slytherin? Very odd, indeed. He supposed she might've been checking him out, in which case kudos to her. He didn't know she had it in her. Not that he was exactly good-looking or anything. After all, girls didn't look at him much, but then again, no one really did. He supposed he wasn't too awful though, in the looks department that is.

He had noticed the small changes Hermione had made over the last year, both physical and non-physical. It had been all over her face. Quite literally, actually. He remembered being so stunned upon seeing her rather sudden transformation. Granted, her conversion had been rather discreet, but he had noticed. He noticed almost everything. The makeup was light, her after school clothes more formfitting and fashionable. Those had been minor changes. Then there was her hair, much sleeker than before, but that, of course, everyone saw. She had somehow grown to hold herself with a slight nervousness about her appearance that he hadn't seen before. Today for example, she was sporting a decently short navy blue skirt with a slightly daring maroon top. She had her school robes in one hand, and her feet were adorned with low-heeled sandals. It was different, it was feminine.

It was also so very out of character. Who had known what a little clean up could do, even for Granger? She still wasn't stereotypically pretty, per say, but she wasn't awful to look at. She was almost...boring, just like all the other girls at Hogwarts. It was slightly disappointing to see her try to pretty herself up like other girls. He had thought her ridiculously bushy hair and unappealing clothes suited her just fine. But on the other hand, perhaps she was trying to prove something. Perhaps to the Boy Who Lived?

He had been entertaining this thought for quite a while now, with reasonable backing of course. Everyone knew of the famous Weasley-Granger row that night of the Yule Ball. Whispers of the news that Harry Potter's best friends were fighting had been passed quickly through the corridors of Hogwarts with glee from the gossiping witches. And of course the Slytherins knew; a crack in the trio was welcome as amusement any day in the Slytherin commons. But Blaise had been watching the Gryffindors closely, and while he thought the argument was inevitable, what with Weasley's irate jealousy and Granger's desire to be noticed, it didn't seem to mean much. That is, if the two Gryffindors did like each other that way, than he was sure it was a passing fancy. Well, for Granger at least. Weasley seemed to be rather infatuated with the girl, gazing at her when he thought no one was looking, but unaware that Blaise was always watching. He mightn't have looked so much if he knew a Slytherin was recording each of his movements very carefully.

But on to Potter. Hermione may've had a passing fancy for Weasley, but it didn't seem much like it now. It was plain to Blaise that Hermione was paying so much more attention to Potter than the redheaded fool. He wasn't sure why, only that they were spending a lot more time with each other than usual. Walks to the lake of the giant squid, talking in the bleachers of the Quidditch pitch, laughing and chatting with each other in Potions. Physically, they were much closer as well. Potter would wrap an arm around her, or she would lean against him. Blaise wasn't sure whether to think much of it. As of now, he was merely investigating the possibility. Just in case, it could be beneficial later. For Blaise was an observer by occupation, and observe he would.

The Dark Lord had truly emerged and had come to power during their fourth year, but that was no secret. Not with Potter spreading the word, what with the Quibbler and Dumbledore and everything. The Dark Lord had been searching for fresh, blood-loyal recruits to join his throng of Death Eaters, and Andre Zabini had gladly offered his son.

To put it simply, Blaise had been rather anxious about the matter, and he and Malfoy had waited outside the room while their fathers conversed with the Dark One. Both of them were stoic and composed, Blaise with a blank expression and Malfoy smirking, and both knowing that to show emotion was a sign of weakness. But Blaise's perceptive eye took in everything, and while both had been trained well to hide thoughts and emotions, he knew from Draco's slight erratic breathing and the tightening of his fists, that he was incredibly nervous. Still outwardly calm, Blaise watched as Draco entered and left with his father, and greeted the Malfoys politely before entering the clammy room.

It was very dark, the torches on the wall casting flickering, fleeting shadows on the mass of pale gauntness. As he bowed his head in formal greeting, he winced as a sharp pain shot through his head, and he could almost feel the Dark Lord sifting through his every thought and feeling. It was quite an invasion of privacy in Blaise's opinion. He felt increasingly worse as the Dark Lord cut his connection, eyeing Blaise thoughtfully. Blaise was sure he was to be murdered right then. The Dark Lord needed people who had a thirst to see Muggle blood, to murder and rape and enjoy it. Blaise wasn't interested. He wasn't a pacifist, but by no means was he willing to sully his hands with Muggle blood either. It was a very long story. So he just stood in front of the Dark Lord that summer night, head bowed in reverence and shame of his unwillingness to kill.

But the Dark Lord had merely chuckled, sending shivers of icy coldness down his spine. The Dark Lord whispered in high-pitched notes, but Blaise heard every word perfectly, "Blaise Zabini...you seem to not have a desire to join me. Do you not agree with my cause?"

Granted, just because he didn't want to kill didn't mean he wanted to die. How on earth could he pull this off when the Dark Lord could read his mind? "You misunderstand, my Lord. I agree with your ideals perfectly."

The Dark Lord paused in his perusal of Blaise's features, "Look at me."

Blaise obeyed, cold and stiff as the Dark Lord's piercing, lifeless, scarlet eyes bore into his. It was rather eerie to see the Dark Lord smile. His emaciated face sort of twitched before lips pursed into a feral, disconcerting grin, "You are quiet. Quite the observer, I can tell. Young Malfoy has told his father all about how you notice many things they never do." Blaise was immobile, unaware of where this was going. Was he not going to kill him? But no, it wouldn't do to get his hopes up. "Perhaps you do not wish to fight." Blaise forced himself to continue looking at his face, unmoving in the Dark Lord's gaze. If possible, the Dark Lord's grin grew, "In which case, I have an ulterior, perhaps even more important role for you. You go to Hogwarts this next year as a classmate of Harry Potter and his friends, along with young Malfoy and the others, yes?"

Blaise hated to admit this in any situation, but he had no idea as to what was going on. He would play along of course, if only to save his life. "That is correct, my Lord."

The corners of the Dark Lord's lip twitched. "Wonderful. Perhaps you would like to be a spy? Especially since you seem to have such an innate ability to do so already. Do you agree?"

Well, that was an interesting, bluntrequest. As to be expected, there was no room for argument. "Of course, my Lord."

"Good," the Dark Lord hissed, red eyes gazing with consideration, "You do not wish to fight. Normally, that would be a problem. But...then...perhaps, if you are unwilling to fight, then you can do the exact opposite." His grin was feral. "You are an intelligent young man, if my sources prove correct. Perhaps you could use that intelligence to work as a healer. How would you feel to be the Dark Lord's resident mediwizard?"

Had the Dark Lord just attempted to make a joke? That was alarming in itself, not to mention it wasn't very funny. Blaise nodded his assent, knowing he couldn't disagree, "I would be honored, my Lord."

The Dark Lord nodded in approval and dismissed him. "Brilliant. You may go now. When you are of age, you along with young Malfoy and the rest will be initiated. As for now, I expect you to owl your father with any...interesting news worthy of my knowledge concerning your school. Remember, young Blaise, I expect excellence. Andre," he addressed Blaise's father, "I am quite impressed with your son. I expect the Zabinis will accomplish great things in the near future."

Andre Zabini bowed deeply, robes skimming the stone flooring. "Thank you, Master." Hand on Blaise's back, he guided them to the small alcove outside, and he addressed his son with pride etched into his baritone voice, "It is quite an honor to be noted so personally by the Dark Lord. I was sure he would've paid more attention to Lucius' son, if anyone else. You would do well to obey and serve diligently."

"Of course, father." And that was that.

Blaise sipped his coffee once more; reveling in the caffeine working it's way into his blood. It had been only a little more than a year ago since that fated meeting. And since then, he hadn't really done much. He had continued to quietly observe, but that was a part of his nature, so it wasn't new for him. He wasn't exactly one for words, preferring not to talk if necessary. After all, why waste words? He believed words to be a very powerful entity, and it didn't do to abuse language in such a frivolous manner. But even when the summer ended and fifth year started, he didn't do anything differently.

He had noticed in their fifth year a group of students that would continuously seek refuge in the Room of Requirements, and lo and behold, the golden trio was a part of it. But what they were doing seemed like child's play. He had heard that Hufflepuff Prefect, Macmillan, discussing it with Smith. Nevertheless, he mentioned his observations in a letter to his father, and the next thing he knew, the Dark Lord was smiling again at him, pleased that Blaise had caught Potter's scheme to better prepare himself against the Dark Lord. The next day, Malfoy and the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad had a field day trying to catch all involved in the secret club. A Ravenclaw had also divulged Potter's secret that day, and it was the perfect excuse. Blaise had stood by the entire time, watching with faint amusement. So observing was not a problem. The second agenda was a little more difficult to cope with, however.

He had never thought of being a mediwizard before the Dark Lord had suggested it. A healer? Why on earth would he want to be a healer? In the scheme of things, he doubted the Dark Lord would need a healer, or any of the death eaters for that matter. It was either live or die with the circumstances, so why would the Dark Lord want a healer on their side? On the bright side, it really wasn't a bad occupation. He supposed the Dark Lord could've asked for worse. And if they ever lived through the war, he could make good money as a healer. They definitely were decently paid. Either way, no need to dwell on thoughts best left alone. There was no way of getting out of being a healer, he might as well not question. A mediwizard he was going to have to be.

Breakfast was amazing, but that was to be expected. Today, the elves had whipped out a pancake bonanza, heaping stacks of dough interspersed with delicious maple syrup oozing on top. It was utterly heavenly. Mealtimes at the Slytherin table were hardly noisily crazy like the Gryffindors. While they too amused themselves and got along, they were much more polite and quiet about it. Today though, many were excitably inquiring as to the meeting about the career project.

Speaking of which, what on earth had Granger been thinking, standing there in front of the board and staring at him so? She had such a concentrated look on her face, and she kept glancing at him in confusion. Yes, she was definitely an odd one. It would be most amusing to figure her out.

Malfoy's voice cut through, lazy and deliberate. "I say, does anyone know what this career project is? I haven't heard of it before, so I suppose it must have just started this year. Surprising they didn't tell the prefects at least...does anyone know anything about it?"

Theodore Nott shrugged lightly but cautiously in response, attacking his pancakes with vigor. Bulstrode shook her head, "Haven't a clue. No one I've asked knows anything. It's a career project though, so I'm guessing it has something to do with our future jobs."

Malfoy snorted, "Really, Bulstrode. I meant besides that obvious fact." It was rather weird, to see Draco being somewhat civil and decent with the Slytherins and then a complete bastard to the trio. He sighed, spearing his fork through a stack of pancakes. "A sixth year project. Sounds boring."

"Yeah. Boring," Crabbe grunted. Malfoy rolled his eyes at his dim bodyguard. Why Draco still kept the two around Blaise didn't know. Draco stuffed his mouth with flour soaked in maple syrup.

"So, Zabini, what's your opinion?" Blaise glanced at the smirking blond, who was lazily twirling his fork with his pampered fingers.

He hated when Malfoy did that.

Malfoy had decided last summer that Blaise really didn't speak enough. Which was true, no doubt, so now he was doing his very best to include Blaise in every bloody conversation he had. Granted, Blaise had a feeling that Malfoy really did appreciate what Blaise had to say, as he was definitely more intelligent than his two bodyguards combined. Blaise responded deliberately, "I haven't heard any news." Malfoy glared, unhappy with his short answer, and while Blaise would've liked to have kept it there, he voiced his opinions on Dumbledore, "I have a feeling that this is one of the headmaster's plans to promote relations with other Houses."

Malfoy scowled, "Oh damn it, that old coot never stops." He leaned back in his chair, "Silly old fuck."

Parkinson looked thoughtful, "Makes sense though, doesn't it? Dumbledore's a freak that way." She smiled at Blaise, impressed by his answer. "You're way too perceptive for your own good. You should be tranquilized."

Malfoy grinned, "Only if I get the honors."

Blaise continued to eat his breakfast with a calm, practiced manner, "When I die, I surely doubt it would be by your hands. Or, at least I hope not."

Malfoy scoffed, chest puffing out with pride. "You bloody well should hope not. I'm rather vicious. I am!" He declared, glaring at the girls, who were now giggling at Malfoy and his viciousness.

Blaise's eye twitched, taking in the scene. He offhandedly wondered what the Gryffindors would think if they saw the Slytherins eating and conversing, being almost normal teenagers. Somehow, he doubted they would believe it. It wasn't that the Slytherins weren't evil, as most of them very well were, but with the Dark Lord looming over them all, they needed to at least pretend to enjoy their life. They understood each other, worked together. They accepted each other's parents and pure blood. It was all a matter of who would get you the farthest. Rather logical, really.

Trust was a different thing altogether. Sure, they had classes together and laughed about Potter, but they by no means, trusted one another. Each of them had found ways to protect themselves in case someone was to kill them at night. Nott had set up a charm which signified if someone was near his bed with ill intentions, a rather tricky charm involving a long-lasting potion he had to take every six months. Blaise knew by the potions ingredients Nott had tried to hide under his bed. Malfoy performed theSonitus spell each night, a rather annoying spell that would alert with a loud noise if someone came to close to him while he slept. He knew this since Goyle had once tried to wake Malfoy up in the middle of the night, only to wake the whole room up with the shriek of a banshee, and had put two and two together. Crabbe and Goyle, well, if those big lumps by their sleeping forms were anything, then Blaise suspected all that they had to keep themselves safe were huge bats. Blaise, he used an extremely effective Fides spell which procured an extremely sturdy, invisible force field thatonly let in the people he trusted. And since Blaise didn't trust anyone, all the more for that spell.

Oh yes, they definitely didn't trust one another.

The pancakes were scrumptious, and before they knew it, the clock had struck nine. The sixth years, about twenty or so, remained while the rest of Hogwarts filed out of the Hall. As soon as the Hall was cleared, the headmaster requested them to move closer to the Professor table, so they did. Once the sixth years were settled, the professors, being as proficient as they were, didn't waste any time.

"I hope you all have enjoyed your breakfast," Professor Dumbledore started, eyes gazing at the group of inquisitive students, "for now we will discuss the first ever sixth year career project. We have decided that in order to prepare you further for your chosen careers, it would be wise to get you started right now. That is, you will be put in groups of three, with people who are also interested in the same career as you are. You will learn skills for your career, as well as how to get along with other people, especially as chances are, you will be with people of other houses," he raised a hand to the immediate groans that resulted from the announcement, "I will admit that this is one of the reasons this project is being instated. However, as proud Hogwarts students, I am hoping you will be mature about it and learn to cope with what you are given." His tone was steeled, and many reeled back at his harsh manner.

Professor McGonagall added, "We are aware that many of you aren't sure of what you want your career to be as of yet, but we have come up with a solution. Professor Flitwick has taken the time to charm four hats, much like the sorting hat. Only, instead of sorting you into Houses, they will inform you as to what your career could be, based on your interests and personalities. You will have the rest of the day off to think about what career you would be interested in, and by eight o'clock tonight, you should have gone to your Head of House to either wear the hat or tell them of your decision. Are there any questions?"

A flurry of hands shot in the air.

"How long is this project?" asked Bones, a rather giggly girl who was too freckled and pale for her own good.

Professor McGonagall faltered, and she turned to the Headmaster almost in plea. The Headmaster chuckled, "Well, it will take up most of your sixth and seventh year. I forgot to mention this earlier," somehow, Blaise doubted that, "but with this project you will also be assigned new classes and such to be with your group members." A roar resounded through the Hall as students angrily protested the idea. Professor McGonagall skillfully ignored them and signaled for Abbot to ask her question.

"What if you try on the hat, and it gives you an idea, but you are still unsure of what you want to be?" A number of hands lowered themselves with this question sheepishly. Blaise was rather surprised. They were in sixth year already, and had had their career meeting with their Head of House last year. Surely they had some semblance of an idea of what they were to be by now? Then again, how would he know? He had never had a choice.

Professor McGonagall nodded understandingly, "That is a very good question. It is all right if you aren't sure of what you want to be even then. I would say, that if you are unsure, then go with the hat's suggestion. However, if you change your mind in the middle of the project, we will do our best to work around the issue and perhaps you can switch out of the group. However, I do not recommend doing so as it will take quite a lot of effort and time. So, think carefully this afternoon."

Professor Snape cut in, drawling with perfected ease, "I know it is hard for you lot, but please, try not to be stupid." Professor McGonagall glared at him, and Professor Snape drawled on, "This will affect your entire future, so do not be rash. I will not tolerate stupidity."

Professor McGonagall's voice was cold, laced with fury. "Thank you, Professor Snape." It was no secret that the professors had a little bit of a rivalry going on. Blaise thought it rather ridiculous. "Is that all? Are there any more questions?" No one raised their hand. "Good. More details will be given shortly. We will meet again tomorrow at the same time."

A shuffle of robes and bags was heard before they all left the Hall, anxious about the project. Many were chattering excitedly with their friends, and Draco had immediately gone on to discuss his prospects of being a professional Quidditch player. Blaise waved the Slytherins off, and took a slight breath before striding towards Professor Snape.

"Mr. Zabini,"Professor Snapeacknowledged, gazing at the boy with eyes narrowed. Blaise was sure Professor Snape knew of the Dark Lord's plans to make Blaise a healer. After all, Professor Snape was one of the Lord's finest. "A mediwizard, I suppose?" It was more a statement than a question, and Blaise nodded his response. "Yes, of course," said Professor Snape smoothly, "Of course." He motioned with his wand and brought a rather old, velvet hat forth, wrinkled and worn down with usage, "I suppose you wouldn't want to try on the hat anyway?"

Blaise paused for a halfsecond; it would be nice to see what he was meant to do if the Dark Lord hadn't insisted on his being a mediwizard, but how foolish to even bother. Perhaps it was better not knowing. He refused politely, and walked out of the Hall, shoes solidly clicking with each step on the cold ground.

Outside, the sixth years were making great use of their free time, many soaking up the sun in the courtyards. He could see the trio from here; it looked like Potter's head was in Granger's lap. How very interesting, another reason he could assume there was something brewing between the two. He walked past the courtyards to the lake, sitting under a massive oak he had grown to love as a shelter. There was something to be said for the tree he had sat under while the second task of the Triwizard tournament had been occurring. It was rather private, and not many thought to come this far out from the castle. It was a haven, his sanctuary.

Once there, he pondered. Mostly about the project. Who would he be stuck with for the next two years? He doubted he would actually _mind_ any of them, none of them were that bad. Idealistic, yes; but not horribly rude per say. Perhaps that Abbot girl, she was a very sweet girl who probably would want to help people. And maybe Boot. Boot was a slight wussy, almost as bad of a bookworm as Granger, and he may've wanted to. But then again, any of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws could be a healer, what with them being so kind and intelligent. And speaking of Granger, the queen of goodwill, she had a large penchant for this hero business, though of course, she couldn't compare to Potter. Perhaps Granger would want to become a healer. The possibilities were surprisingly larger than he'd originally thought. Who on earth would he end up with?

This project might be very interesting indeed.

* * *

**Author notes:** Well, this is it. How did you like it so far? Don't worry, there will be more interaction with the characters than just them talking to themselves. Yes, have no worries there. And oh gee, I wonder who will be with Blaise? Hmm…this sure is a toughie.

Please review to tell me what you think. I would love to know what I'm doing wrong (or what I'm doing right, if I'm doing anything right), or what needs to be changed. I'm allowing you to criticize as much as you want. Lay it on me. My only request is that you do it constructively. This is my first fic, so be kind, please. Thank you for reading this, and please let me know what you think. See you in the next chapter!

Translations-  
sonitus- noise  
fides- trust, word of honor


	2. Chapter Two: The Choosing

Chapter number two is finally here! Sorry about the long wait, but school just ended for me. I promise that the next chapter will come much sooner, give me two weeks and I assure you a new chapter will be up by then. See you at the bottom!

**Career Choices**

Chapter Two: The Choosing

"So Harry, what do you want to be?"

Harry was languidly twirling a lock of Hermione's hair in his hands, smoothing it out gently. He exhaled softly, pulling his hand away to grasp hers, and then turned his head, which happened to be in her lap, to face Ron's.

"Well, I suppose I've always wanted to be an Auror." Harry responded. "You know, considering how I've got that hero complex and everything." It was supposed to be a joke, but Ron only smiled weakly and Hermione could feel Harry's grip on her hand tighten slightly. He tugged his hand away and she obliged, and a few moments later could feel him playing with the hem of her skirt. "Although I'd also really like to be a Quidditch player. Go pro and all that good stuff."

"Sounds good. Quidditch players make good money, especially seekers. Not to mention you're bloody amazing at Quidditch. Though your name alone will rake in enough money to last me a lifetime, not to mention a couple mansions and other cool trinkets anyone would die for." Jokes like these had come slowly, Ron still unsure of whether he could say them, even though Harry was now encouraging it.

Hermione couldn't tell from her viewpoint, but she was sure he was giving Ron that perfected, fake grin that she had grown to hate. "If my name did all that, then I'd never have to work!" He sighed exaggeratedly, bringing a hand to his chest, "But alas, that wasn't meant to be." He shifted so that he was looking up, and now could see both Hermione and Ron. "So Hermione, what about you? Any thoughts?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, chuckling. Of course she had had thoughts. Actually, she had formulated a precise career plan with Professor McGonagall last year that she hadn't mentioned to them yet. It was sort of embarrassing. "Harry, you're talking to me, Hermione Granger. Of course I've thought about it. In great detail, no less."

Ron smiled, "That's our girl." He leaned forward. "So, Miss Granger, what _are_ your thoughts on your future career?"

Hermione flushed, looking away. She had never admitted to them that she had always wanted to be a doctor when she was little, playing with plastic stethoscopes and healing doll patients and the like. She had read her first medical textbook at eight, a text on the anatomical structure of the heart. She had loved it, how everything fit together, how perfectly the heart had been assembled, how this seemingly small muscle kept them all alive. It was fascinating, and she knew that beyond the technical awesomeness of the human body, there was a deep desire in her that wanted to fix those whose bodily instruments weren't working correctly. She wanted to help people that couldn't help themselves. It was no secret, even as a toddler, that she was a bright girl, so if there was something in her power as well, she wanted to do something to help.

Hermione had something of a hero complex as well.

She knew she had no reason to be embarrassed, but she always felt a little odd when it was perfectly clear how she'd planned her life from the get go and her two friends hadn't even really considered it until the meeting earlier. She shrugged, "I thought it might be nice to be a healer. I've always wanted to do it."

It was as if the two were expecting such an answer. Ron grinned broadly, "Of course, a smart job for a smart girl. I should've known from the start." Hermione was beginning to think it was an insult, but Ron quickly clapped a hand to her shoulder, effectively squelching her worries, "You'll be a great mediwitch. I'd surely go to you." Then he winked.

Harry laughed and Hermoine rolled her eyes. Harry's hand found Hermione's once more and squeezed gently. He shook his head at Ron, "Ron, I'm ashamed of you. Get your kicks elsewhere, Hermione is our friend." He then turned to her, smiling with amusement. "I always expected you to be, oh, I don't know, a librarian or professor or something. But a mediwitch, that's great! The Order could do with a healer or two; it'd be perfect." His eyes were hallow for a minute before he shook his head lightly, and the warmth came flooding back. It always managed to give her a chill.

Ron sat back, stretching his arms languidly, "So let me get this straight. Harry and I want to be Aurors and Quidditch players, and Hermione wants to be a healer." Harry and Hermione nodded in response. Ron snorted, "We're like the perfect crime-fighting team. Us three, we're going to save the world."

Harry's eyes darkened, "Let's hope so." His grip on Hermione's hand was much tighter. Then the pressure was gone and Harry was raking the hand through his hair. "So, should we go to McGonogall now?"

Hermione stretched her legs out painfully; they always felt so weird and stiff after something rested on them too long. Ron shrugged, "I'm fine with it, that is, if you are." He directed the last statement to Hermione, who nodded in response. "Excellent!" They all stood, "Let's go."

The headmaster gazed at the group of teenagers solemnly, hands calmly clasped in front of him. His eyes peeked out under the rim of his hat, and after a long, calculated pause he spoke. His voice was barely a whisper, raspy, and though those factors were all due to age, his eyes still contained that resonant youth that always managed to shock them all. Today was no exception. They were like flashing lights, and it was obvious he was eager to begin this project. He opened his mouth to speak, and all attention has steadfastly focused on him.

"Welcome again. I expect your break yesterday was well spent in choosing your future path." His eyes were dancing again, and were almost distracting. Hermione blinked, pay attention! "Yesterday the four Heads of House and myself met to construct groups of three based on career choice. Take heed, it was a difficult decision, and many sacrifices were made for this project." Here the professor's voice became lower and stronger. "I will say this only once, and do not even think about it, but these are your groups. You will not be able to change them in any way, shape or form. Don't even ask, the Heads and I will be very upset if you do." Hermione's eyes narrowed, that didn't sound good. It sounded almost as if he had purposely made them the worst groups possible. He smiled, as if to alleviate the tension that had quickly built, "And now we will announce your groups and hand you your brand new schedules."

He hummed lightly as he accio'd a thin roll of parchment, then opened it deftly and held it in front of him. His mouth quirked into a smile. "Group number one- Lavender Brown, Padma Patil, and Pansy Parkinson, who all wish to be fashion designers." A couple of the Ravenclaws snorted at what appeared to be a ridiculous career. Meanwhile, Padma and Lavender absolutely beamed, until they realized who their third member was. They shot glares at the Slytherin, who was only too eager to glare back. Meanwhile, Hermione was aghast; these were actually careers? People actually wanted them?

And the list went on.

"Group number two- Terry Boot, Neville Longbottom, and Dean Thomas, Aurors." The three boys grinned with relief. At last their group wasn't totally awful. Ron clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder and Harry grinned at Neville.

"Parvati Patil, Hannah Abbot, Lisa Turpin- Gynecolowitch." All the boys winced as soon as they heard this. That was surely an uncomfortable profession they didn't want to be. Hermione smirked at Harry's widened eyes and Ron's coughing. Sometimes it was such fun antagonizing guys.

"Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley- Auror and Professional Quidditch Player." The reactions were interesting, to say the least. Ron turned bright red, Harry choked and started coughing, and Draco's face contorted to the point where Hermione could almost say he looked good. She reached out a sympathetic hand to pat Ron's arm gently and rubbed Harry's arm with the other. Poor them. She knew she'd feel awful if she was placed with the prat.

"Susan Bones, Mandy Brocklehurst, Ernie Macmillan-" Dumbledore's mouth twitched, "Professors."

"Hermione Granger, Seamus Finnigan, and Blaise Zabini- Healers." Seamus turned around to beam that Irish smile of his and Hermione grinned back. Thank God at least one person she didn't mind was on her team, but then, and Seamus was looking around too, who was Blaise Zabini? She glanced at the Slytherin table as Malfoy turned to the dark-haired boy she had run into earlier.

Inadvertently, she tuned out what Dumbledore was saying to hear, and she would never admit this, what Malfoy was saying.

"You? A mediwizard?" Malfoy clapped his shoulder.

The boy whose name she now knew was Zabini shrugged. "Why not? The pay is more than decent."

Malfoy snorted. "Like you need it. Why work when you don't have to?"

"Playing Quidditch takes work," Zabini pointed out.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, "That's different. Quidditch is fun. Healing is not. Besides, I had originally signed up to be a rich playboy, but Snape wouldn't allow it." Zabini looked at him, and then scoffed in amusement before turning to look towards Dumbledore. With a start, Hermione realized she hadn't been paying attention either and turned to the Headmaster. Unfortunately for her, he had already finished the groups and was now discussing what they were to do next.

"Please congregate with your new groups. Introduce yourselves, for you are stuck with each other for the next two years." His voice was cheery and sparkly, and Hermione could see Ron turn a lovely shade of green. He clapped his hands together, and immediately the groups that liked each other joined up and chatted with joy. Hermione could see Harry send looks of envy towards those groups before dragging Ron along to find Malfoy.

She felt a tapping on her shoulder and spun around to find Seamus, whose expression was now one of worry. "I'm glad you're in my group, but I don't know about this Zabini character. I haven't seen much of him, and if Malfoy's actions indicated otherwise, they seem to be pretty tight. Slytherin pals, I bet." Hermione smiled shortly. Seamus looked away, "He's coming over. Let's hope he's decent for a Slytherin." The words came out harshly and bitingly. Hermione exhaled; prejudice of any form was never good, and Seamus wasn't known for keeping his temper in check. Hermione lay a comforting hand on his forearm before turning to face the boy.

She didn't know how, but somehow she managed to keep her gaze level and focused on the boy in front of her. Merlin, she thought, he really was better looking than all the boys their year combined. It was actually pretty sad. She opened her mouth to speak, but found it didn't work. Seamus' suspicious behavior only raised the tension bar, and for a few moments the three just stood there, assessing each other.

Finally, Hermione couldn't take it anymore and shoved her hand out. "Hermione Granger," she said simply. Zabini looked at her thoughtfully and carefully before reaching out to grasp her hand in his lightly. He gave it a firm shake and then dropped it gently. Hermione willed herself not to blush. His hand was so warm and firm, it was almost sinful. She could feel his muscles rippling beneath his uniform shirt, and she barely stopped herself from shuddering.

Seamus glare only magnified as he too stuck out a hand. "Seamus Finnigan," he growled. "Sorry if I'm a little tense, what with you being good friends with Malfoy and all." Hermione snapped her head at Seamus' to stare incredulously. Not only was that rude, but what a great way to start the two year span. She would've expected that out of Harry or Ron, but Seamus? Then again, if it was the same for Harry and Ron, why couldn't it be the same for the others?

To both their surprise, Zabini cracked a half-smile of amusement. "Blaise Zabini." He grabbed Seamus' outstretched hand and shook it. "And no, I'm not remotely close to Malfoy."

Seamus' glare faltered, and soon his face melted into a sheepish smile, raking his hair back nervously. "Ah…I see. Sorry about that." Hermione exhaled; at least he didn't make a scene of Seamus' comment. Seamus cleared his throat, "So, um, introductions." He looked around, then sighed. "What's there to say? Let's see. Seamus Finnigan, seventeen this December, Irish all the way, and, um, I like Quidditch."

Hermione grinned. "I don't think that was what Professor Dumbledore meant by introductions, though you gave a very pretty one." Seamus flushed, and Hermione laughed, patting his shoulder gently. "Well, if that's how we are going to do this, then Hermione Granger at your service. I turn seventeen later this month; I'm a Gryffindor, and I can't stand Quidditch." Her smile was bright and teasing as she made the last comment.

Seamus laughed, "You don't mean that." Before Hermione could object, he cut in, "You just don't like it when your friends are playing and could get themselves killed." Hermione flushed and slapped Seamus gently. She turned to look at Zabini expectantly.

Zabini nodded, "Blaise Zabini. Turned seventeen last August," he smirked slightly, "Slytherin, and I'm a boy, so of course I love Quidditch."

Seamus whistled, "Wow, seventeen already? That's early. You must be the oldest in our year." Then he smirked, turning to Hermione, "See, Hermione. You can't run away from Quidditch. Every guy in his right mind loves the game. You're never going to win."

Hermione clucked, "We'll see." She turned to glimpse Harry, Ron and Malfoy, who all looked ready to vomit. She shook her head, "I feel so bad for the three of them."

Seamus and Zabini followed her gaze and Seamus chuckled. "I can see how you're sorry for Harry and Ron, but why Malfoy?" He stopped and looked at Zabini as if he just realized a Slytherin was with them.

Zabini waved it off, "Do not worry about it. I really do not care."

Seamus looked at him a second longer before returning his attention to Hermione. Hermione sighed, "Yes, well of course I feel bad for Harry and Ron, they're with the guy they hate the most. But the thing is, so is Malfoy. Malfoy hates them just as much, you have to admit that if you were Malfoy, you'd hate to be there too."

Zabini glanced at her with an assessing eye, and Seamus grimaced. "Yeah, but still. Malfoy, ugh." He shuddered, then exhaled. "Oh joy. A list of our classes. I hope we have good ones." They each picked up their own and looked it over.

Hermione glance at her own and then at the boys'. They had scheduled two hour meetings with the main teachers during the week mornings, but where were her NEWTS? All of her hard-earned NEWTS classes weren't on the list, but why? The afternoons were left open for extra classes, and Hermione was pleased to see that at least her Arithmancy and Ancient Runes classes were NEWT level. Before any of them could comment, Dumbledore spoke.

"This year, many things will be different. For instance, I'm sure many of you noticed that the classes you wanted at NEWT level do not have the NEWT marking." Dumbledore's eyes flickered briefly towards Hermione's and she could've sworn that he winked before continuing, "You all did well on your OWLS, so we decided to push you all a little further. Let me assure you that the morning sessions are indeed NEWT level. In fact, they are probably more difficult than the NEWTS, because these instruction periods integrate not only the regular material but material that applies to your career choice."

Seamus sniggered, "That's perfect! Can't you just picture Snape teaching the fashion girls how to make sleakeasy potions?" Zabini raised an eyebrow and Hermione chuckled.

Dumbledore persisted, "Then of course, the afternoon is free for your extra classes and extracurriculars. It has been thought out with careful precision, and you are allowed to be paired with one group during these morning sessions. Choose wisely, and once you have decided, you may come up to me and we will make real timetables for you."

As soon as Dumbledore was finished, chaos ensued. All the groups split up to find their friends

Harry and Ron had to practically drag Malfoy to where Seamus, Zabini and Hermione were standing. Malfoy was rather reluctant at first, but once he got over the initial shock of being with four Gryffindors and realized that Zabini was there as well, he got over it and agreed. The six of them walked up to Dumbledore, told him of their decision, and with bright, sparkly eyes, Dumbledore handed them their timetables.

Now the lists they were given earlier were organized into a schedule, and Hermione was dismayed to see that Potions was the first morning session of the week. Harry and Ron were obviously upset too, and Harry almost lunged at Malfoy when he burst out laughing at their upset expressions.

Once everyone was settled, Dumbledore graced them with a brilliant smile. "Well, that's it now. You're a little late for your first session, so I suggest you hurry!" And with robes cascading behind him, walked out.

It first there was a surprised pause, and then Hermione could hear Harry curse. They hadn't expected to start lessons so soon. Harry and Ron quickly started packing when Malfoy held up a hand. "What's the rush?"

They both turned to look at Malfoy incredulously. "Are you mad? We have Snape first. It doesn't take much for him to take points off.

Malfoy cackled, "But you forget o wise one. We-" He clapped a hand on Zabini's shoulder, who didn't seem as if he cared. "-are Slytherins. Therefore, if we're late, well," he shrugged in that annoying bastard way of his, "then we're late."

Hermione could see the telltale signs of an apoplectic fit. A vein was beginning to throb in Ron's forehead, and Harry's hands kept clenching in and out. Even Seamus didn't seem too pleased, glaring at the blond with unfiltered hate. Hermione sighed; this would be a very long two years. She glanced at Zabini, but when it was obvious he wasn't going to do anything to help, grabbed Harry and Ron's hand. They both looked at her blankly, and Hermione rolled her eyes. She tugged at their hands. "I hate to admit this, but he's probably right. Let's just walk down there and not get into a fight the first day of lessons, okay?" Ron pulled his hand away with a huff but Harry smiled, squeezing reassuringly before letting go.

It would be a very long two years.

* * *

It was decided. The Hogwarts professors were definitely out to kill them. Blaise had always thought that he was decently in shape, but just this morning alone proved him very wrong.

Blaise rolled his shoulder back in an attempt to stretch the muscle. Finnigan had his head in his hands and Granger had just conjured a bowl and was now washing her hands in it. After glancing at Finnigan she flicked a few drops of water at Finnigan's head, and even then Finnigan barely stirred, merely waving a hand in her general direction.

It had been a trying day.

Potions was exhausting, to say the least. Snape had spent the first hour with the six students grilling them on facts they might've forgotten over the summer, and of course while Malfoy, Granger and Blaise remembered most of them (or in Granger's case, all of them), the other Gryffindors had a little more difficulty in placing some of the facts and resulted in a decent loss of points for the Gryffindors.

Once that interlude was over, the Hell began. He split them up into their groups and started their group out on a pain-alleviating potion, an extremely exacting potion that usually took a good couple of hours to complete, but he had only given them one to finish. They were barely able to complete it in time, and even then it wasn't correctly done. Their assignment was to study the potion together sometime before the next session in order to have it perfected. According to Snape, time was of the essence, and while that was true, it was, well, Hellish seemed a good word to describe it.

While Potions had been mentally taxing, with Herbology it was all physical. Professor Sprout first had the six wrestle with an interesting looking vine which emitted a very eerie iridescent glow when they went near it. After that, the Auror group went off to pluck fruit off their trees to check whether they were edible or not (apparently this was for survival in the wild should they be in some sort of trouble and cannot apparate or the like). Meanwhile, Sprout made the healers dig five feet underground with three shovels to find all the different roots they could. Once they were done, they were asked to examine them and research their properties before the next session.

Needless to say, Blaise thought it was a little unfair.

Granger groaned as she absentmindedly rubbed her shoulder, "This is why I hate manual labor." Finnigan grunted in response. Blaise felt that someone should at least respond decently to her, so he replied.

"I agree." Granger looked up at him in surprise. Blaise almost smirked; true, it wasn't everyday Blaise spoke of his own volition. "The Malfoy and his group got off way too easily."

Hermione furrowed her brow in astonishment for a split second before she laughed. "Yeah, you're right." Her eyes softened. "The lucky prats. They get to pick and eat fruit." She chuckled to herself as she picked up a floppy tendril root. "And us? We're stuck digging for these."

Blaise cracked a smile before returning to examining the roots they had collected. It had been their luck that apparently there were more than twenty different root types they were going to have to examine. He distinctly hoped that they were actually one root type that somehow mutated to look totally different. Unfortunately, he doubted it.

The door to the greenhouse slammed open to let in a beaming Potter and Weasley, arms laden with apples. Malfoy came in shortly after, munching on a bright red apple. Without a word he placed one in front of Blaise, and he took it with a slight nod.

While Weasley was prodding a conked out Finnigan, Potter waved an apple invitingly in front of Hermione's face. "Come now, take a bite!" Granger started to smile but then hissed quickly as her hand came once again to rest on the junction between her neck and shoulder. Potter's joyous expression quickly morphed to one of worry. "Are you okay?" He reached out a hand but Granger weakly swatted it away.

Granger smiled sheepishly smiled. "It feels like I pulled something." Blaise turned to look at her in the middle of biting his apple. Granger had gotten so worn that she had been injured? Potter opened his mouth to help but Granger immediately continued, "But I'm sure that's not it. Don't worry, Harry. I'm fine."

Potter didn't look much convinced but didn't object. He watched her rub her shoulder for a few seconds more before handing her an apple. She took it with a smile and he moved to the other side of the table. He glanced at his watch before setting himself behind her. "Eat your apple," he commanded gently, and when Granger did so, Potter began to massage her shoulders.

Blaise could see her stiffen slightly before allowing him to, and soon she was laying her head down on the desk so that Potter could get better access to her sore shoulders and back. But there was something odd in the way she was biting her lip, as if she sorely didn't want to be there. Blaise watched as Weasley smirked and continued to poke at Finnigan. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malfoy making a lewd gesture with his fingers and mouth, "They're obviously doing it."

Once Potter was convinced that she was okay, he stopped massaging Granger and made sure she ate the apple he had picked. A few minutes later, Professor Sprout dismissed them and they were finally able to eat.

Blaise could barely move, and it took all his willpower to lug himself to the Great Hall, with Malfoy laughing at him every step of the way. It seemed it would be a very long two years.

* * *

"May I sit here?"

Blaise looked up with wonder. No one had ever asked to sit beside him before. The fact that it was Granger made it even weirder. He looked around the Ancient Runes classroom, and once he realized that all the desks were full save theirs, he nodded and returned to his textbook. She sat down with a sigh, and out of the corner of his eye, Blaise could see her put her bookbag with a wince. She was breathing heavily and kept shifting her shoulder and cringing. It was obvious something wasn't right.

Normally he would let her go on with whatever she had to do, but she was his partner. There was no where she was going to permanently mess up her shoulder and leave Finnigan and himself to deal with all the work. He was a pragmatist, and that was just not going to happen. He paused for a few seconds, before closing his book firmly. He turned to face her, "That shoulder isn't all right, is it?"

She stared at him blinkingly before flushing. "Don't worry about it."

"Do not evade my question," he retorted. "Something is wrong, go to Madam Pomfrey after class, see what is up with that."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm sure it's fine. Besides, I don't want the guys to worry." The guys being Potter and Weasley, of course.

Blaise exhaled, "If you put any more strain on that shoulder, it could be permanently damaged. I could tell, during Potter's massage. You were ready to cry out in pain and barely restrained yourself." If possible, Hermione's skin flushed a deeper crimson. "It would be ridiculous if a member of the Healer group got injured during lessons."

Granger smiled amusedly, "I suppose it would be rather crazy." She sighed in defeat. "Okay, I promise I'll go after class." And at that moment, the Professor walked in so all conversation ceased.

It was a very interesting lesson, and thankfully very pain free. When class dismissed Granger quickly packed her bag, put it on her shoulder and walked out. Blaise started in surprise; she better not have been lying. He quickly walked out after her and to his disappointment of the girl, saw her walk towards the Gryffindor Tower. He strode towards and in six fast steps reached her side.

He barely gave her time to react. He swiftly took the bag from her shoulder and pulled her from her good arm down the opposite way with her spluttering the whole time. Blaise clucked admonishingly, "Honestly Granger. Madame Pomfrey's office is this way." And with a determined step, Blaise brought Granger to the Hospital Wing.

Pomfrey immediately set to work, giving Granger the same pain-alleviating potion they had been working on earlier that morning, and was about to wrap her shoulder when Pomfrey turned to Blaise. "Aren't you in the healer group as well?" Blaise nodded. "Well then, come here. Hermione can be your first patient." Blaise paused. What? Pomfrey gestured him over. "Come boy. I have to teach you these skills eventually, might as well start now." Blaise was getting a little anxious now. Did that mean he had to actually _wrap_ the bandage around her shoulder? Madame Pomfrey seemed to understand his misgivings, because she gave him a toothy smile. "Don't worry boy. You don't have to physically do it. All you have to is take off her top and say the incantation." She turned to Granger, who was now looking thoroughly shocked. "You _are_ wearing something underneath that, aren't you?" In bewilderment, Granger nodded. "Great, come here. Make sure you don't touch the injury too much." Blaise forced himself to move forward.

Blaise stood in front of Granger, who was flushing bright crimson. He kept his eyes on her face, which was now turned away in embarrassment, as he deftly unbuttoned her shirt, and before he could open it, he walked behind her to slip it off her shoulders from behind. He could barely hear Pomfrey's praise of his efficiency. Granger's right shoulder was a deep hue of red that wasn't natural on skin. It was swollen and looked ready to burst, and Blaise felt almost bad for her. Pomfrey was now right next to him, and after assessing it, she smiled.

"Just a simple sprain. That should be easy to fix. Boy, this is the incantation. Get it right the first time: Medicor corporis."

Blaise repeated her words, and immediately the bandage started wrapping itself around her shoulder. Meanwhile, Pomfrey gave Granger another potion, this one supposedly reduced swelling and worked to heal sprains. Soon she was ready to leave, and Pomfrey congratulated Blaise on a job well done before shoving the two out of her office.

A rather thick silence ensued before Blaise remembered to give Hermione her bag back. She took it with a small smile and Blaise turned to walk to the Slytherin dormitories when he was stopped by Granger's voice.

"Thank you."

Blaise turned slightly to meet her gaze. She kept averting her gaze, as if ashamed of what had happened. And perhaps she had reason to be. She wasn't exactly the prettiest girl around. Charming, certainly, but pretty? Not quite. Average, really. With a quick nod in response, he left with Granger staring at his receding back.

Hermione forced herself not to blush the moment her eyes came into contact with Blaise Zabini's the next day at breakfast. Instead she pointedly looked forward and focused on her friends.

At first she felt pure fury. She couldn't believe he actually forced her to go to Madame Pomfrey's. What on earth possessed him to do that? It was her decision to make, not his! If she didn't want to go, she shouldn't have. Yet did Zabini give a care as to what she wanted? Obviously not. She still could remember her surprise when he took her bag and hauled her to the office.

Then her fury was quickly replaced with a deep, deep embarrassment. One that made her want to bury herself six feet under and lock herself in a coffin, but then she remembered that digging was the reason she was in this mess at all. Didn't matter, there were plenty of other ways to commit suicide at this rate.

He saw her in her bra. That alone made her want to crawl into a hole and never come out. He had taken off her shirt like it was an everyday occurrence. He had just done it with a straight face, and Hermione had the feeling that he didn't even peek. It was just absurd.

Then her embarrassment died out and shame took its place. God, the whole thing was hot.

She could barely breath when Blaise efficiently unbuttoned each one of her buttons with ease. She could feel his gaze on her face the whole time, as if it was to reassure her that he wasn't looking. The thing is, she sort of wanted him to. Would he be as attracted to her as she was to him? Probably not, but damn, the way he made it no big deal was just so bloody sexy. Hermione didn't know what to do.

Later in Transfiguration, Hermione noticed a small slip of paper by her elbow and picked it up very carefully. When she was sure Professor McGonagall wasn't looking, she opened it carefully, and almost dropped it in shock when she the contents. In a neat scrawl she had never seen until the other day, were the words clearly imprinted:

How is your shoulder? Are you feeling better?

Hermione gulped deeply before responding:

I feel loads better. Thank you for asking.

And the next time McGonagall turned to board, she slipped it to Zabini. She watched out of the corner of her eye as his eyes flickered over it briefly before writing something very short underneath her response.

Good.

And after that, they somehow came to a mutual agreement that no one found shocking. Blaise Zabini and Hermione Granger were two people who believed in the art of practicality; it was only natural these two people got along. They weren't friends by any means, for that would have been heresy, but they were okay with each other. And in such a time of war as these, sometimes that was all one could ask for.

Author's Notes:

The next chapter is finally complete:does a happy dance: The great part is, it should get a tad more interesting now that stage is set and the ball is rolling. Whee, I'm excited.

Now, I know I didn't mention all the students in their year, but I had some trouble placing a few of them (does anyone know who Morag Macdougal is?), so in the end I decided to leave some people out. Later on I may bring some left out characters when they're needed, so they're not completely gone from this story.

So, what do you think? Please, review and let me know. It would do me a world of good. Once again, I promise my chapter intervals will from now on be regulated. See you (and I mean it) in two week's time.

Translations-

Medicor-to heal

Corporis-the body


	3. Chapter Three: The Secret

I've heard that it's been confirmed that Blaise Zabini _is_ a guy.

…Awesome.

Disclaimer: I hereby disclaim Harry Potter (not that I ever claimed it was mine in the first place).

**Career Choices**

Chapter Three: The Secret

"I don't understand why we need to learn this. Who on earth _loses_ their bones?"

Seamus and Hermione were walking from the hospital wing to the Gryffindor Commons, where the Healer group had been previously working on an extensive potions project. Professor Snape believed that in order for the three to become proficient healers, they had to experience the pain of their patients.

Bullshit.

The sadistic thing was, he wasn't the only professor that thought so. Every other week, Zabini and Seamus were taking turns getting injured and having the other two heal. Zabini hit himself in the thigh with a bludger bat until it turned black and blue. Seamus forced Harry to sneak into the kitchens to steal a butcher's knife, and proceeded to slice his arm so that it bled profusely. Blaise threw himself down the stairs until he could hear a definite crack in his ribs, and Seamus conjured a ball of fire and let it burn on his torso.

Overall, they were going to kill themselves. Hermione had felt awful standing on the sidelines, watching them as they literally threw themselves into dangerous situations just to get a cut, or a bruise, or a sting. She had wanted to participate so as to even the share a bit, but the boys wouldn't have it. Male pride, of course, and while Hermione felt indignant that they wouldn't treat her as an equal in that sense, she _was_ admittedly grateful that she didn't have to jump off a cliff or battle a vicious plant or whatever the teachers wanted the students to do next.

In the end, all she was allowed to do was give them massages, because apparently "You're hands are the most heavenly things to ever touch this body!" courtesy of one Seamus Finnigan. Not surprisingly, all those life-and-death situations had them extremely stressed out, and according to Seamus, nothing beat stress like a good massage. Hermione was an adept masseuse, and while Zabini had been hesitant at first with Hermione touching his body, in the end he consented. It was now a common sight for Seamus and Zabini to throw themselves in front of her for massages.

This time, Blaise had Professor Flitwick perform the same charm that Lockhart had used to remove the bones on Harry's arm. Hermione laughed reminiscently, thinking of the second year incident. "You'd be surprised." She glanced at Seamus' incredulous look. "Do you remember Lockhart in second year?"

Seamus' face immediately contorted; who didn't remember the egotistical maniac? Hermione sighed, thinking of her pathetic second year crush. What an idiot she had been. "Well, do you remember when Harry broke his arm at one of the Quidditch tournaments?"

Seamus thought for a second, and then his face brightened with his recollection. "Oh yeah! Harry's arm looked like jelly." He laughed shortly, "Lockhart was such a fraud."

Hermione laughed with him, and they walked back in silence for a few moments before Seamus interrupted the quiet. "Hermione, why did you decide to go into healing?"

She raised an eyebrow; that was certainly unexpected. "I've just always been fascinated with it. I figure this is just another way to help people in need." Hermione paused, "Why?"

Seamus shrugged, "I was just wondering."

Come to think of it, they had never discussed their motives for being healers. Not once had the topic come up in their many discussions. She wondered why that was the case. "And you?" Seamus' frowned and Hermione quickly said, "That is, only if you want to tell me."

Seamus shook his head, "No, it's not a secret." His eyes clouded with emotion, so unusually different from Seamus' trademark happy-go-lucky expression. His voice was reminiscent, with a tinge of sadness underlying the surface. "My mother died a few years ago." Hermione opened her mouth to express her condolences but Seamus stopped her, "Don't worry about it. She had, I believe you call it cancer, of the breast. Something like that, and you know, it's rare for these kind of diseases to crop up with wizards and witches, so the healers didn't know what to do, and they weren't sure if a witch could handle Muggle treatments." His eyes flashed and his mouth turned down, "In the end, they didn't do anything. There weren't any real magic treatments for the cancer. Said it was too risky." He let out a short laugh. "Yeah, I suppose it would've been, but I don't know. I suppose they could've at least _tried _something." Seamus turned to her, eyes widening, "Hey, does the Muggle world even _have _anything to help with cancer of the breast?"

Hermione kept her gaze firmly on his. She knew the best thing was to tell him the truth, but she wasn't sure how he'd react. "Actually, yes. They do. In the Muggle world, breast cancer is a common disease, so they've come up with ways to treat it. It's not perfect, and sometimes doesn't work or makes it worse, but there have been successful cases."

Seamus nodded grimly. "I see." They walked in an uncomfortable silence, Seamus contemplating and Hermione taking it all in. Seamus chuckled wryly, "Well, I haven't answered your question, have I? I guess I'm doing this for my mother; I've wanted to do it since her death. I figure the least I could do for her is learn as much as I can about healing so that if I couldn't help her, then I could help others."

Hermione smiled at Seamus; she had never known him to be so serious. "That's very…" she paused, searching for the right word. "…noble of you." Seamus blushed slightly and by that time they had reached the commons, and it was to a peaceful quiet that they entered.

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Blaise looked up at the visitor and nodded his acknowledgment. "Hey."

Granger smiled, walking across the room to sit next to him. She grabbed his arm and started examining it, "How're you holding up?"

Blaise shrugged. "Fine, considering my bones are re-growing themselves as we speak." Just earlier in the day, Professor Flitwick had charmed the bones in his right arm to disappear leaving an odd floppy appendage in its place. Then he took the bone re-growth potion they had made earlier, commonly known as Skelegro. He shuddered at the remembrance of the vile drink, it was utterly disgusting and whatever idiot loses their bones deserved the potion.

Granger chuckled, softly applying pressure to the healing arm. "Tell me if anything hurts." It was soothing and relaxing, and Blaise felt the warmth of her hands hovering over his arm. Blaise had been unsure when Finnigan had proclaimed Granger's hands to be godlike, but now he had no doubt. Granger had smooth, soft hands that somehow always felt warm and nice. As Finnigan put it, it would've been a sin for Granger not to use those hands wisely. Her checkup didn't take long, and Hermione sat back, stretching slightly.

"Did anyone come visit?" It had been an inside joke of theirs, Granger always wondering whether anyone came to visit him when he was stuck in the hospital wing. Sometimes he had visitors, other times he didn't. The times he did were considered lucky, the times he didn't were evidence of his being unpopular (according to Granger).

Today he had a visitor, but he wouldn't call himself lucky. "Yeah, but it was Malfoy. I suppose he visited just to annoy me." Granger laughed and leaned forward, head resting in her arms on the bedside table. She sat like that for a few seconds, expression thoughtful, but before he could inquire as to what she was doing, she asked him a question.

"Why did you become a healer?"

Blaise barely moved, not expressing his surprise. That was random. He composed himself under his cool façade. "My father wanted me to be one."

Granger's brow furrowed. "Your father? Why do what your father wants you to? Can't you make your own decision?"

Blaise inhaled. He couldn't let her pry any further. "It is my father's opinion alone. I have no say in what my father wants for my future. I, like a good son should, obey my father." That, at least, was the truth.

But no, that didn't seem to placate Granger. "But this is a lifetime decision! It isn't your father's choice to make. It's yours!"

Blaise didn't even blink. "Perhaps, but it does not matter. My father feels it would be best for me to be a healer, and so I shall be."

To Blaise's horror, Granger's eyes widened and he watched as her eyes flickered down towards the flesh of his left forearm. Her eyes drifted back to his face, and then back to the forearm. It was a good thing they could only get the mark at eighteen.

Her body tensed, he could tell she was trying her hardest not to accuse him outright. After all, what real proof did she have? Blaise _was_ an excellent actor, other than Malfoy, who had practically shouted to the mountaintops that he was going to be a Death Eater. Her mouth set in a grim line, Blaise had a sinking feeling that now that Granger had a suspicion, it would be a lot harder to work for her.

"Is…" Granger paused, attempting to phrase her question in an inoffensive way. "Is your father the only one you obey?"

Blaise had to hand it to her. She was garnering the suspicion that she was sitting by a prospective Death Eater, yet she still managed to be diplomatic about the situation. His face was straight, "I obey all those above me."

Granger's eyes pierced his own, chocolate question his blue. "Of course." She stood and patted her skirt down determinedly. "Dinner should be starting soon, so I probably should be going." She headed towards the door, but before she left, hand poised on the doorknob, she paused firmly.

"I think we both know what just happened here." Her voice was surprisingly clear, like crystal. She shifted slightly so that she was looking back at Blaise. "Let's agree to disagree. Let us continue working as a team, and let us forget this ever came up." She paused once more before leaving. "As much as I'm probably going to regret this, I won't tell anyone. I promise. After all, it is your life…secret to tell." And with that, she left.

Blaise cursed under his breath the moment the door closed behind her. Somehow she had deduced something that shouldn't have been found out. Something that was meant to be a secret. How had he slipped so horribly? Was his acting faulty? What was it?

This was not good.

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Dinner was an absolute nightmare.

Seamus had been retelling the whole bone removal story to the Gryffindor boys, who were all morbidly fascinated. Lavender and Parvati tried to pry some information about Zabini from her, but she could hardly think straight, let alone complete her sentences. She was barely able to get through her meal, awkwardly aware of Harry and Ron's curious stares. But they wouldn't understand. And besides, hadn't she promised not to tell?

She then groaned inwardly. Oh god. She had just offered to cover up for a death eater. What was the world coming to?

Blaise Zabini…Death Eater? Or, affiliated at least, because he didn't have the mark. Yet.

There wasn't any proof, and she had perhaps considered it at one point, but she had immediately dismissed the idea. It wouldn't do to think like that while they were a team. Just because he was a Slytherin didn't mean she had to stereotype. However, that conversation…

It was all in the reactions.

Zabini was too flawless. Hermione had noted it and had been suspicious about it at first. Then she had thought that that was just how he really was. Smooth and collected and perfect. He always said the right things, acted well, and was basically mature.

She never had even considered it to be an act to cover something up. The play of words, his staring perfectly composed at her. She was always the intuitive one, and somehow she just knew. _He's hiding something_.

Immediately her eyes swept down his arm to rest on his bare forearm, but when she glanced back into his own, they were still perfectly blank and collected, and then it was confirmed.

They were both very smart people. And now the secret was out.

Somehow she managed not to bolt immediately and kept her composure, playing with words just as he had done. He readily complied and the words they exchanged only further verified her suspicions.

She could barely look at him when she decided she would keep his secret. She mentally forced herself not to fidget or look nervous or bolt, but then once she had worded her promise she let herself go, nearly running out of the hospice.

And then, here she was. Unable to concentrate or eat or sit or think.

Suddenly she was feeling very claustrophobic.

She stood, smiling apologetically. "I've just remembered something I have to do. I'll see you guys later." The Gryffindors said their goodbyes and she swept her bag onto her shoulder walking briskly out, trying desperately to ignore the two pairs of footsteps running to catch up to her.

"Hermione."

She sped up but then they caught up to her, grabbing her on both sides. She flung around. "What?" her voice was tight, body tense.

Ron and Harry glanced at each other rather conspicuously before turning back to her. Harry kept a firm grip on one arm, thumb running smoothly over her skin. She pulled back violently and Harry didn't attempt to take her arm again. He swallowed, "What's wrong?"

She couldn't lie, they'd see through her in a heartbeat. "A lot. Look, I've got to go."

This time Ron grabbed her arm. "No, we're not stupid Hermione."

"Actually, you are." Goodness, where did that come from? God, why didn't they leave yet? She needed to go and think!

Ron grimaced, looking slightly hurt. "Right, so we are compared to you, but we can tell when something's wrong."

"And it's obvious that something is wrong," Harry cut in. "You can tell us, you know."

Hermione groaned. GO AWAY. Her brain was going into shock, and they weren't doing anything to help. "Actually, I can't." They opened their mouths to argue but Hermione interrupted. "This is something I can't talk about with anyone."

Ron's brow furrowed. "But Hermione, you tell us everything. We're best friends."

Hermione snorted, "Since when have I told you everything? I'm a girl, you two are guys. It's a rule that we don't tell each other everything."

Harry's eyes widened at Hermione's angry tone. "Well, that rule's never applied to us before."

That was it. She needed peace and she wasn't going to get with these two pillocks. "Look, Harry, do you really want to be a hero? Then go away."

Ron choked and Harry looked stricken. "I—I don't want to be a hero."

Hermione sank to the floor and buried her head in her hands. "Well, then go away anyway. Ron, Harry, I am stressed and I have found something out that I did not want to know and you two AREN'T HELPING. PLEASE GO AWAY." The last part was shrill, and by this time both Ron and Harry were looking furious.

"Fine!" Ron roared with enough ferocity for the two of them. "We'll go. See if we try to ever help you again!" And they both stomped away with anger blazing in their eyes.

Now with her peace, she sat with her back against the wall of the hallway. She took a few deep breaths in and out. What was she going to do?

It struck her later that maybe she was a little rude about the situation.

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Seamus' eyes were wide as he turned to Hermione. "What exactly happened yesterday night? Those two came storming into the dorm rooms and I thought they'd sleep it off but they still looked royally pissed off." Zabini glanced at them curiously.

"Lover's spat?" Zabini asked, looking piercingly into her eyes.

Hermione swallowed. She had thought a lot the other night about what she going to do about the situation and finally came to the conclusion. Okay, so Zabini was doing something for Voldemort. Fine, fine, she could deal with that. He didn't seem totally evil. She could deal with that too. In the end, if he played nice, then she would too.

She smiled exhaustedly. She didn't have to pretend to be tired; she didn't get much sleep the other night. "Ha, Zabini. For your information, though let me remind you that it is none of your business, we got into a slight argument the other night."

Seamus looked at her. "Slight?" He gestured to Ron and Harry, who were pointedly ignoring her and seething. "You call that slight?"

Hermione groaned lightly, "Okay, so maybe it was more than slight…"

Seamus chuckled, "Maybe, she says."

Hermione laughed, "Seamus, I'm trying my best to forget yesterday night. Can we talk about something else?" The double meaning wasn't lost on Zabini. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he looked at her. She glanced at him and went back to writing the assignment.

Seamus nodded with an apolegetic grin. "Beautiful spring day," he said nonchalantly and Hermione slapped him lightly.

"Shut up, Seamus."

When class was over, they had a thirty-minute break before the next one started, and Seamus left to meet up with Dean. This left Zabini with Hermione in a rather awkward silence.

It was Zabini that broke it. "So, what exactly was the argument about?"

She decided to tell him the truth. "Something that I found out yesterday left me very shaken, and Harry and Ron wanted to help but they were only being annoying. We all acted very immaturely and now we're too proud to admit we were wrong." She hoped she had worded that all right. She scoffed, "In retrospect, it was pretty pathetic, what with us acting like we were two years old."

Apparently she had, because Zabini nodded understandingly, looking out a window as they passed by. "That must've been quite a piece of information for you to have been so shaken by it."

Hermione's eyes sought Zabini's, but he wasn't looking at her. "It was."

"How did you find out?" His voice was quiet, deeper, confused. He locked his eyes onto hers, deep navy onto rich chocolate. "How did you know?"

She couldn't believe she was about to reassure a potential death eater. What was she thinking? "Your acting was excellent. Too excellent. I often wondered why you seemed so perfect. And…I don't know how I suddenly figured it out, but then, I suddenly knew. I can't quite figure it out myself."

It was quiet for a second, the silence contemplative. "You thought I was perfect?"

Hermione flushed. "Well, you acted like a mature gentleman. You don't find many of those in our year. Believe me, the girls have tried."

Zabini raised a brow. "And yet, most of the Hogwarts girls have boyfriends."

Hermione scoffed. "Oh please, that's only because they settled." Immediately she raised a hand to her mouth. Did she really just say that?

Zabini let out a surprised laugh and Hermione looked at him in surprise. She had never actually heard his laugh. It wasn't unpleasant; a deep, rich baritone.

"Settled?" Amusement was clear in his eyes. "I doubt many of the Hogwarts men would be very pleased to hear you say that."

"And that is why you aren't going to tell them," she mock warned him. Thank god, she thought gratefully, they weren't going to be awkward around each other.

"Of course not." His eyes were bright with laughter and Hermione raised a brow. "You keep my secret, I keep yours."

And then it was silent.

"Zabini—"

"Granger—"

They paused and Zabini gestured for her to continue.

She swallowed but continued hesitantly. "You should smile more."

Zabini's eyes widened. "What?"

She took a deep breath. "Smile. Laugh. Be natural. Happiness looks good on you." She immediately stopped herself from banging her head against the wall. She couldn't believe she just said that. She just wanted to state a fact, but the comment was almost…flirty, and lord knows Hermione Granger didn't flirt. He better not have misconstrued that in any way.

Thankfully, Zabini didn't, or if he did, he didn't show it. "Well, thank you. I'll remember that." They walked a few minutes more before Hermione remembered that Zabini had wanted to say something earlier, so she asked him.

"Oh, well, I just wanted to know if you'd ever settle." …Was Zabini flirting with her?

Hermione laughed. Of course not, she doubted that word was even in his vocabulary. He was too serious for it. "Me? No way." An impish grin settled on her face. "You should know me by now Zabini, you know I'd never settle for anything less than the best."

Zabini looked at her a minute, and then slowly grinned. "Good luck finding someone."

She smiled wistfully, "Unfortunately, when it comes to love and romance, I'm afraid I'm going to have to."

Zabini raised a brow. "And why is that?"

Hermione shrugged. "No man is perfect, therefore, I have to settle for imperfection." Was she really having this conversation with Blaise Zabini of all people?

"But I thought you said I was perfect."

She turned around and put her hands on her hips. "No, you _acted _perfect. That's different. Being real and perfect, that's something no one can do."

Zabini looked thoughtful. "I wasn't aware there was a difference." His brow furrowed slightly. "As a Zabini, it's my job to be perfect."

She glanced at his attentive expression and placed a hand on his arm, "Zabini, no one's perfect."

His eyes were unreadable as he gazed at her. "No one?" She shook her head negatively.

"No one."

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Granger was definitely an enigma.

When she had left the hospital wing the other night, he had been terrified of whether she actually was going to tell people. Then he was horrified when he realized that she knew something a Gryffindor definitely shouldn't and why wasn't Dumbledore here to expel him yet?

He had a hard time going to sleep.

But then the next morning he went to breakfast and everything was as it should've been. He sat with the Slytherins and ate a hearty meal and then went to their first class of the day, when the fear of being caught began to seep through his bones once more.

For some odd reason, Potter and Weasley were completely furious and ignoring Granger, and that didn't bode well. Was it about yesterday night? Did she tell her friends? Oh what was he thinking, of course she told them. They're her best friends!

He couldn't really focus during class either.

But then when Finnigan left and Blaise asked her about the argument, Granger told him the real reason and he was left feeling very much relieved. He was almost positive Granger couldn't lie to save her life, though if she had to save other lives she might've been able to… No, by her expression, he knew she was telling the truth. After all, he could read people very well. He wasn't an observer for nothing.

And then somehow they were talking about settling and romance and about smiles and perfection when it hit him.

He actually enjoyed Granger's company.

She was attentive, intelligent, kind, funny, loyal, brave, and so many sickeningly sweet adjectives that it momentarily surprised him. She was slowly becoming something more than an acquaintance. Even with the knowledge she now possessed, she was becoming something more. Something like a friend.

And that was when he knew it'd have to stop.

What a ridiculous train of thought.

He sat down and hurriedly pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. _Don't be stupid, Blaise._ Thinking quickly, he started to write.

_Dear Father,_

_I hope I am not sending this update too late. School is, as usual, quite boring. I have been doing nothing but research spells and brew potions. Lately, it has become quite tedious. As you know, my work has been the sole thing in my mind, and please give our boss my highest regards._

_Speaking of work, of the puzzle we are trying to solve, the red and black pieces seem to want to separate from the brown. Unfortunately that is all that is new. The three puzzle pieces are being obstinately tight and close with each other. I apologize; I wish I could be of more help._

_I hope all is well back home. How is mother doing?_

_I expect your owl soon, your son._

He reread it quickly before sending it off with his owl. And once it had flown away he found he couldn't breathe.

What had he just done?

The answer came with another owl that met him just as he was about to go asleep.

_Son,_

_I admit I was expecting a letter sooner, but these things take time, do they not? I am pleased you have found something new in that blasted puzzle of ours. The boss is very pleased and we are dealing with the issue as I write this letter. Expect something different with that study group of yours._

_Your mother is fine. I expect you will finish this year strong and return to us. The boss and our family misses you._

Blaise looked out the window, gazing at the tranquil night air.

Study group? Granger…

What had he done?

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Author's Notes:

Hey everyone. Back in two weeks, like I promised. It's a bit short compared to the other chapters, but variety is the spice of life, non? Anyway, I know the timeline may've been a little rushed, but I think it's okay. But enough about me, what about you? Comments, criticisms, concerns? Lay 'em on me. Please?


	4. Author's Note

Hey people! This is Kafka Dreams. Something unexpected came up, and I won't be able to even touch a computer until around the end of July. This also means (gasps) that I probably won't be able to read HBP till then (mourn for me, please). With that in mind, I will have to break my self-imposed, two week deadline (and only after using it once, sigh). Sorry, but expect an update whenever I get back (definitely before the end of July).

Continue to have a great summer, and don't give me any spoilers! I'm dying already knowing I won't be able to read it when it comes out. See you soon!


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